


A Chance Meeting

by PhantomWriter



Category: Merlin (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Gen, Witcher books and Witcher 3 mix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 10:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16385897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWriter/pseuds/PhantomWriter
Summary: When Geralt happened to come across an old man being harassed by bandits, he wasn't expecting that the same old man was more than what meets the eye.





	A Chance Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed. I'm aware that some of the Arthurian lore made it to the Witcher series, so pardon this fic. I simply made this to scratch an itch. Happy reading!

It was almost dusk when Geralt passed by the marker of the town before his destination, the town by the Velen mountainside with a sparse vegetative land. His plan to spend the night in an inn was chucked out due to a rather erroneous estimation of his travel time, partly his fault for not taking into account the seemingly rampant activities of bandits and deserters around these parts. The signs were there a day's ride ago. Geralt was left with no choice but to get what meal he could afford with his measly crowns, with the day already late to find a contract, and spend the night at the stables.

He could curse the bandits for his predicament, but that would mean he wasn't used to this kind of situation.

Geralt trotted Roach through the weather-beaten road as the sun set on his back. Fast his pace might be, though, Geralt didn't miss the jeering laughs of a party of men—he could discern five young different voices and one old—coming from west of his current position. He didn't have to assume what was going on; it was obviously another group of muggers praying on an old, defenseless man. Their victims were either the old, the young, or women. You have to wonder where men's dignity lay these days.

And, no, it wasn't his problem, nor was he a wandering vigilante, the protector of the downtrodden, but that was only in cases where he wasn't there to hear any signs of distress.

He dismounted Roach, patting her rump to send her at a safe distance before unsheathing his steel sword, stalking without care for stealth as the voices sounded louder as he approached. They were too occupied harassing the old man to pay any attention to the surroundings as Geralt gave a heavy blow on the nape of one of the men with the pommel of his sword. At the same moment when the unconscious body fell down face-first on the ground, three of them succeeded in snatching the coin purse from the old man, with another taking ahold of the old man's wooden cane, much to his angry protests.

"I'll hand it back, if I were you," Geralt said calmly, keeping the sword away. There was no need for the blade, with the bandits only armed with wooden clubs.

"What is it to you? Sod off, you prick!" a brave one sneered, clearly the leader. He got a good look at Geralt before saying, "Or not. You look like you have more valuables in you. Get him too, boys."

Same old, same old. Geralt gracefully ducked an incoming hit to his side, hooking his foot on a leg and making a clean sweep and a hand chop on the nape. There were two bodies on the floor now. He might be hoping for too much when he thought it was enough to discourage them.

"Alright, s-stop!" wailed the same man once his comrades littered the ground, as if a collection amongst the dirt. "I-I'm going now. Please spare me!"

"Sure, as long as you don't bother showing your face here again," Geralt advised soundly. He was an easy person to talk to.

The deathly pale man ran away without preamble, zigzagging until he was out of the witcher's line of vision like a drunk on his innumerable tankard for the night. It was only when Geralt was left with the old man did he noticed how oddly silent the victim was afterwards.

The old man was pensive, humming, when the witcher turned to him. With his long beard, russet tunic, and the walking stick, he could pass as a mage. All he lacked was that nose in the air. He reminded Geralt of the druid Ermion, in fact.

"I could have handled it," the old man grumbled, and Geralt supposed that was the closest to haughtiness that he could get.

"Beg your pardon, but it didn't look like it."

The old man was annoyed to be called out on his bluff. "Because I make it seem that way. Seems unfair to—pah! Never mind that." Aged eyes sized Geralt from head to toe, gaze critical. "Hmm. We don't get the likes of you in these parts."

"There isn't many of us nowadays."

The old man frowned. "I see. That is a shame. Do you have a name, witcher?"

Geralt wondered what he meant. "Geralt of Rivia."

"That name rings a bell," the old man said with another hum.

"No doubt coupled with the word butcher and vagrant," Geralt said. He glanced at the direction he left Roach, seeing her snorting anxiously. "As much as I'd like to have a conversation, I'm in a hurry to get to the next town to get a lodging. If you'll excuse me. And please refrain from going out alone. Not all bandits are easily fended as those earlier."

Geralt nodded in farewell. He wasn't expecting any word of gratitude at all. In fact, the silence and the critical eye were more preferable than the usual spiteful words of disgust.

"Wait, witcher," the old man called. "You have my thanks, and for that allow me to give you a warm meal and accommodation for the night to my home. It isn't a long walk from here."

The witcher paused, considering the sudden gracious offer. It was far too early to see any malicious intent, and if there was, he knew he could easily overpower the old man. Besides, accepting would be more economical. Those alone tipped the scales to agreeing, aside from the inexplicably wanting to acquiesce immediately. There was not a tingle from his medallion, therefore he was sure it wasn't some kind of magical influence. Perhaps it was in simple offer of generosity alone.

"A fine mare," the old man said once Geralt whistled for Roach. "Does she have a name?"

"Roach." While snobbish to strangers in general, Roach welcomed eagerly the gnarled hand that stroked her muzzle. "And what is the generous host's name?"

"Dragoon."

"Dragoon," Geralt repeated with uncertainty. With how ridiculous it sounded, it was clearly an alias.

"It is what the local children call me," the old man said like he knew what was going on in the witcher's mind, eyes lit up knowingly. "I am Emrys."

"You are not hailed from Velen, I presume. I could not place your accent from anywhere."

"That is correct, witcher. Experienced being a tramp in my younger years, but my creaking hips required me to settle down in one place," Emrys's expression was wistful when he said it. "Though I am glad that it is a place of my choosing." They stopped in front of a hut that was a few walks away from the town that Geralt passed by. "We are here."

Geralt entered the humble home after securing Roach on a post. Emrys assured him that he would bring out oats for her and that she would be safe from the prowling wolves at night.

Upon his entry, the witcher's heightened sense of smell was assaulted with various scent of herbs that he recognized a handful of while most he smelt the first time. There was a mortar and pestle on the table near the entrance, a pulpy mix of green and purple leaves left on it. On a cupboard at the far end of the wall were assorted tinctures and vials containing colorful liquids, and on the counter top right below it was an open bottle of alcohest.

"You studied herbology and alchemy," Geralt observed. "It is rare that one does both."

"I find that I have an affinity for both, and they're good sources of income," Emrys replied, stoking the fire. "This will only take a few while, but while we're waiting…" He hung a covered cauldron above the heat. "I suggest that you strip off your chest armor."

Geralt's brow rose. "Pardon?"

Emrys sighed impatiently. "You are injured, are you not? I am also offering to remedy your cuts."

"You must be mistaken. I wasn't injured by the fisticuffs."

Emrys snorted. "Of course you aren't. No mere bandits could, I suppose, with that deft hands of yours. I am pertaining to the wounds you sustained from yesterday, if I am to hazard a guess. Was it a notorious nekker? They've been recently around like the bandits."

"And how did you know that?"

"Let's just say that I happen to know a lot of things and that I could see the discomfort you bear on your upper arm and torso, try as you might to hide them. That might be so, you'll have to trust me that I only wish nothing but to tend to your injuries. It isn't often that I receive kindness from a stranger, so allow me to repay you in full."

It was supposed to be Geralt's line. He silently regarded his host for a long moment until his said cuts started itching under his light armor. He relented, methodically untucking his vest and shirt. The three gashes across his skin had scabbed an inch on both ends. The middle part, though, oozed a sheen of blood at the sudden movement.

Emrys studied the cuts with a keen eye that made the witcher guess that it was a veteran healer that was attending to him. He was handed a clean rag dabbed with alcohol to clean across the three long swipes as Emrys searched for something on his cabinet, returning not long with two phials where one has a dropper and the other corked. Emrys opened the former, two droplets singeing on the wound.

"I know you already made sure to keep it from being infected, but I applied an antiseptic all the same." He showed Geralt the corked bottle with a viridian liquid. "This is an experimental mixture of mine. I've tested it on occasion to the townspeople who sought my medication, though I must confess that I never tried it on people with mutations. Do you mind?"

Geralt was honestly taken aback by the question. He had thought that with how straightforward Emrys had been, he would simply go on without asking for permission. His great consideration for his patient was another proof of his experience as a healer.

"Go on."

Most part of his torso felt numb when the liquid made contact with the wounds, and for a moment, Geralt was wary that his body would react terribly. It didn't, witnessing firsthand how the gashes clotted close into fine red lines as if it was healing for months. Emrys looked just as satisfied with the result, nodding to himself, and telling the witcher that he was free to have a copy of the manuscript of the potion if he wanted to.

Geralt was sternly advised to remain unclothed for at least until before he turned in the night. "You do not mind a shirtless dining companion?" he asked wryly.

"I've had worse company before." Emrys shrugged his drooped shoulders. "Eat up, witcher."

Geralt was served a hearty dinner, definitely way better than what he would have gotten if he continued in an inn. And Emrys was certainly more hospitable compared to the innkeeper. Still, a part of him doubt that it was a simple act of repaying. Geralt didn't have the best of reputation, therefore he would attract the same brand of people. While Emrys wasn't showing anything out of the ordinary just yet, Geralt was on alert for any sign of intent, malignant or not, that he could pick up.

It wasn't difficult for Geralt to know more—Emrys has a lot of stories to tell, mostly from his travels on his younger days. Though on some, the witcher wondered on the validity, with some recounting that didn't match the year estimation in accordance to Emrys's current age. Either Emrys was lying on a few, or he was lying about his own age.

"There's an unoccupied bed that you can have," Emrys told him. "The potion will be more potent while you sleep. Expect your injuries gone overnight."

Geralt gestured to the bed that was reserved for him. It didn't look like it was reserved for patients. "Is there another person that lives here?"

"In a way, yes," Emrys mumbled cryptically, stroking his chin.

"Where are they now?"

Emrys was annoyed by the inquiry. "They're not around as of now, that's why I'm lending their bed to you for the night," he said bluntly. "Well, if you're done interrogating, this old man will be turning in for the night. Good night, witcher."

Another person living with Emrys. Why wasn't it brought to the conversation before, and if it wasn't for the two beds, why did it look like there was only one resident? Geralt let the mysteries to themselves for he was only a guest for a single night, albeit his insistent natural curiosity that required to be sated. They would only concern him if he had somehow gotten involved.

Geralt donned his undershirt before lying down, pulling the covers over him that were surprisingly warm despite the threadbare appearance. Sleep took him after he tuned in and heard the apparent silence within the area surrounding the hut and Emrys's steady breathing a cot away.

* * *

It was still dark when the witcher's senses kicked in.

Cat eyes opened to the dim hut illuminated alone by candles on their last half-inch of wick. Geralt confirmed that his belongings were exactly where he left them, including his swords that were near him.

He frowned. There was something the woke him.

Geralt listened and was met with the same silence, except this time, Emrys's breathing was missing anywhere near the hut. Quietly, the witcher sauntered past the wooden divider, and indeed Emrys was missing, with his bed already made.

He didn't know what to do with the information. On one hand, it was odd of the old man to go out by the hour, meaning Emrys was attending to something of utmost importance that he was willing to risk it despite Geralt's advice, and that was not only regarding the bandits but also the monsters that preyed during the dark; on the other, Geralt knew of Emrys's vocation, and for all he knew, the old man was gathering herbs earlier than sunrise. In general, it wasn't the witcher's business at all.

For an early riser and somebody who lacked sleep for nights most of the time, Geralt was hit with another wave of drowsiness and exhaustion that seemingly pulled him back to the cot. He relaxed back on the bed, unwittingly letting himself be and promptly went back to his slumber.

* * *

"I thank you for your hospitality. It isn't often that I receive the same treatment," Geralt said on the moment of his departure. "I will never forget your generosity, Emrys."

"Yes, you'll remember it once you are leagues away," Emrys said dryly. "Safe travels, witcher. Now go if you wish to cover more ground before sundown."

Geralt was all but shooed out, though it was a smile that cracked on his face rather than a hard expression. Emrys's well-meaning bluntness was refreshing.

He pulled on Roach's straps until the town's notice board. He checked through the pinned papers that were mostly recruitment notice. Geralt patiently perused the posts until at last found one that said needed a witcher at best and a man adept with a sword at the very least. He quirked an eyebrow at the strangely worded note and decided to ask the person who put it up for more information.

He asked around and was directed to the alderman who happened to be knee-deep in muck, tending to his pigs. He recognized Geralt immediately for the swords on his back, giving a profuse apology for his state.

Geralt waved a hand dismissively; he had waded through refuse and monster dung before. "Here about your notice."

"Ah, yes. Put it up yesterday, wasn't expecting an immediate response. From a witcher, no less."

"Tell me more. Why is it vague?"

"Hrm." He looked around, sighing in defeat. "Might as well speak here. Not like the people don't know of it. West of here surrounded by the woods is a cave by the foot of the mountain. Cave is new to us but been there for a long time as far as we can tell. There used to be a boulder and large debris blocking it, cleared out when the earth gave a mild shake in the middle of the night a month ago."

Geralt remembered the quake. "Your men went and checked it?"

"Aye. Been included in the party of five men. We began planning for an expedition after we started hearing loud groans coming from there like they were from a huge creature in pain."

"And? Did you find the source?" Geralt asked, interrupting the alderman's line of thought that it could be a dragon in there. To the witcher, it would be a fiend at worst, definitely not a dragon.

The alderman's gaze wavered from the witcher, slowly and hesitantly, he murmured, "We do not know what really happened. We were there walking to the entrance, and the next thing we knew it was already the day after."

"You don't remember what happened?"

"Nay. Asked my companions too and said the same. Do you think it was sorcery from whatever it is in there?"

"Too early to tell. Everybody of you returned?"

"Yes, yes. Not a single hair of us harmed." Magic wasn't a far-fetched idea, might be a confounding to keep away the people. What was curious was the reason as to why place it there. "As for the case of Merlin… we can't be sure."

"Who's Merlin?"

"Young man apprenticing for the old man by the isolated hut." There was no small amount of distaste at the alderman's tone when he mentioned the old man. Geralt frowned at the hostility, and it was mistaken as confusion. "A despicable sorcerer, that one. Glad that he's separate!"

"Do you mean Emrys? He isn't a sorcerer."

"How could you—oh, dear. It's you, isn't it? The old coot's guest, the one with ashen hair the townspeople were talking about. Should have known. He tricked you to come with him, didn't he? That blasted—"

It was starting to get on Geralt's nerves. "Yes, that was me. Now get to the point. Who is Merlin and what was he looking for in the cave?"

"As I said, he's a young man apprenticing for the geezer." The alderman wiped away the sheen of sweat from his forehead, staining his skin in the process. "Though he was acting as an errand boy instead: the one fetching the old man supplies from the market and does the housework. I swear the old quack works the young man to death. No wonder he was always tired, gathering some nonsense herbs after dark and returning very late. Still, the young man always offered to help around the town as much as he could, looking after the children and playing with them during his break time. He's clumsy, alright, but a bright and courteous lad. Wise for his age, even. Every people here are fond of him. I admit I do, as well, after he treated my pigs of their disease and are much fatter with the diet he told me."

"Where does the dislike for Emrys came from?"

"Where from? His eccentricities, of course! Old man is sly too, teaching the kids to play with fire and giving them demonstrations. Mayhaps hoping that they accidentally burn our houses down."

"That's a stretch."

"I know, I know, but only to those who doesn't know of his reputation. He accommodates the shadiest of people, sometimes a man with plenty of scars, obviously a cutthroat, sometimes a child with huge, eerie eyes and doesn't look like a kid, only wearing assembled broad leaves and twisted vines to form a semblance of clothes. And we couldn't be sure if the rumors were true—highly likely that it was—but one evening he was entertaining a creature with the legs of a horse and a torso of a man. Do you see my point, witcher? The old man caters to the strangest of company. No offense to you, of course."

So Emrys was acquaintance with a heavily scarred man, a godling, and a centaur. With his residence close to the town, it raised some red flags. Emrys was clearly a man just as any of the townspeople, and for him to be close with non-humans was strange indeed for the ordinary folk. Not for Geralt though.

"I'm waiting for more information about Merlin."

"Patience, witcher, I'm getting there. Two weeks ago, we believed that Merlin was sent to the cave by none other than Emrys. Merlin is quite an obedient chap, never protests on any work given to him no matter what hour it was given. He was last seen by the owner of the hut—the one at the end of the road—after gathering extra firewood for the chilly evening. He said that Merlin looked harried, in a hurry that he didn't hear his name called. Baset claimed that he saw Merlin entering the cave."

"I do not understand the heavy blame you're putting on Emrys. While it was irresponsible of him, he might not have a choice on the matter. Somebody could have needed help, and he couldn't rush to gather resources that late. He is no longer young; it was logical to send Merlin on an errand."

"We could speculate all day as to what brought him to the cave, but the fact of the matter is that Emrys had intended to send his apprentice there despite the possible danger. As for us, we suspected that Emrys planned it so and had the young man killed in a place where nobody would look for him." The alderman seemed to sense Geralt's incoming retort about jumping into conclusions fast. "Listen. It might mean nothing, but Emrys is aware of our distaste for him and our fondness to his apprentice. Emrys would have a motive to do him in, and he isn't lacking in  _friends_  that could. Again, I am not talking about you, but no offense, nonetheless. And before you complain, witcher, you know that men have killed for less. How is jealousy any different?"

Geralt was silent for a while. "Did you find any sign of him, even at the entrance?"

"Nary a thing. I know that you're here to know more if there was any monster lurking in there. Unfortunately, I couldn't answer, the same reason the note was written as it is. Since what happened to us and Merlin's disappearance, nobody dared to venture in there anymore. I also told them not to, for fear of not knowing what is exactly in there." The alderman at least knew how to make a smart decision. It was more than what Geralt could say to some. "A witcher is the most welcomed in case there is a need to dispose of a monster. If there isn't, well, it'll be a relief, and rest assured that you'll be compensated either way, just find out what happened to Merlin and bring his… remains, if he truly met his end, by accident or not."

"I'll be investigating the site. Can you tell me Merlin's physical description to identify him easily?"

"About this tall," the alderman said, making a gesture with his hand and about two inches over his head. "Thin and pale skin; brunet; blue-eyed. As for his face, he has distinctive high cheekbones. He also wears a red scarf around his neck."

Only the last bit would have mattered the most if Merlin was already dead. Geralt nodded anyway. "I'll be going now. I'll come back later."

"May the odds be in your favor, master witcher."

* * *

It wasn't a long hike, though the closer he got to the location, Geralt could feel the woods closing in on him as if enchanted to keep any intruder.

His medallion was thrumming, and Geralt knew then that he was in the right direction.

Surprisingly, though, nothing sprang out from the sudden heavy shade made by the cluster of trees that darkened the surroundings in spite of the high morning sun. Geralt wasn't comforted by the fact that he met no hindrance—it raised his alert even more, the medallion thrashing wildly against his chest.

The witcher descended the steep arrangement of wide stones that served as staircases. Focusing on the dark, Geralt was met with a blocked wall that closed off the way beyond. He pulled out the Eye to remove the illusion, though when he began the process of dispelling it, Geralt was met with a strong resistance that blew him a good meter away, his back grazing the ground ungracefully.

"Shit," Geralt cursed. He wasn't expecting the illusion to have its own layer of defense.

Whatever was in there, it was hidden and protected to the utmost. The witcher has no way of passing through the strong magic unless the caster puts it down himself. He seemed to be dealing with a powerful mage and so far, Geralt doubted this would be going down without any hitch.

He clicked his tongue, approaching the wall once again but kept a safe distance. There were fresh tracks on the floor that he could follow; for now, he would and gauge for himself the situation. The trail led him back near his own tracks earlier, and Geralt followed the set of footprints that were mildly imprinted on the soil, suggesting a human with light steps—not heavyset then; thin man or maybe a woman.

The witcher stopped and prioritized the peculiar set of prints right at the end of the forestland. At first glance, it appeared to be merely overlaid by another set of different prints. Geralt's eyes weren't fooled, though. The footprints changed completely to another heavier pair partnered with the mark of a cane.

When Geralt's eyes landed on the familiar hut up ahead, the questions multiplied rapidly.

He needed to talk to Emrys.

* * *

"You again?" Emys said the moment he opened the door by Geralt's third knock. "Left something behind?"

"No, it's about the job I got. My investigation led me here," the witcher admitted without hesitation. "Do you mind if we chat a little?"

There was a glint at Emrys's eyes as he held Geralt's stare. "It isn't like I don't know what brought you here," he muttered, opening the door wider for his visitor.

"You didn't say that your apprentice was missing. Still is," Geralt said directly.

The old man placed two cups at the table and slumped on the seat opposite of Geralt. The witcher remained standing. "Why should I? I told you that he wasn't around at the time. I didn't lie."

"No, but you didn't tell the truth either."

"Fine," Emrys grumbled under his breath. "It hardly matters where he is."

"The alderman and the townspeople think otherwise," Geralt said. "They think you have a hand in his disappearance."

The witcher could see how the statement sparked the old man's interest. "Did they now?"

"There's also the matter of you coming recently from the cave. Fresh tracks. It was last night, wasn't it? I woke briefly and found your bed empty."

Emrys tilted his head. "Go on. What conclusion can you derive?"

"That either you're a mage as the alderman said, or you're a mimic."

"A mimic? Intriguing."

"That's one way how your tracks seemingly changed from a different person to an old man. It would also explain why my medallion isn't reacting in your presence—I couldn't detect a mimic even if its talking to me. You could have been anybody when you were checking the cave, probably assumed a body of a young person for mobility. Then you returned to being Emrys. Emrys was an old, secluded man. Nobody would know if he was on his death bed. If he died before having Merlin as an apprentice, then only the mimic would know what happened. If Emrys died and Merlin was already under his wing, then Merlin would have been privy to the secret."

"Are you suggesting that I murdered him to keep my secret?"

"No, because it isn't a mimic's nature. A mimic can only copy the good qualities of the person it was imitating."

"Well, you certainly knew them. You're right, mimics are beings that could only see the good in people. It's a fine quality that they possess. Sadly, their kind are dwindling down."

"Are you one of them?"

Emrys smiled serenely. "Before I answer that, tell me why you don't think I'm a mage."

"Because I can't sense any faint trace of magic in you. There's no reason for you to hide it, so it means that it's not the case. You're a healer with an aptitude for herbology and alchemy that your services aren't limited to humans alone," Geralt explained. "Besides—"

"…If you happened to be a mage or a sorcerer, you would have been flashy and flaunting your abilities, and you would have wasted no time dissing on what witchers call magic," Emrys finished for him. "That's what you meant to say."

"More or less." Emrys might not be a magician, but he could be a mind-reader, and that was rarer in itself.

"I am not a reader of minds, only facial expressions and body language. And I have to say that you are rather expressive."

That was a first. "What happened to Merlin?"

"Do not concern yourself with him. I am keeping him for the meantime."

"That is technically kidnapping."

"Oh, no. Far from it, in fact."

"Stubborn old man," Geralt remarked. "Why not tell me what happened? Soon, it would be the townspeople in here with pitchforks to drive you away when they've had enough feeling threatened by you. Again. None would take the time to sit down and hear your mumblings. Or if they couldn't do it themselves, it would be soldiers fetching you in suspicion of murder. Remember that they were simply tolerating you for Merlin's sake who everybody likes."

"I know," Emrys said, a tad forlorn and distant. "It isn't like they knew who took care of their grandparents who used to be orphans. Do not get me wrong. I had taken care of them not because I was asking for something in return one day. I am saddened that the values I instilled on those children never passed down to their offspring and grandchildren. If they did, then it would have been a town where any race is freely accepted without any prejudice. I had high hopes that through Merlin I could do it again for the future generation."

"That's…" Geralt took the time to consider his words carefully. "You're older than what you appear."

Emrys rolled his eyes. "Of course, that is what you get." He stroked his chin, becoming thoughtful. "Just when I am being partial to your theory that I am a mimic. I could use it next time, if you'll allow it."

The witcher's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What are you?"

"I am what you would call a mage. A sorcerer. Though from where I came from, I am one of the druids," Emrys said, moving to stand up by leaning heavily on his staff. Geralt tensed when Emrys stood fully. "At ease, witcher. I meant you no harm. You're a man who needed proof of what I am, just as you're looking for answers regarding Merlin. Let me show you."

The pointed end of Emrys's staff hit the floor with a resounding thud. Geralt didn't miss the shifting of Emrys's blue eyes to gold, the same shade of the glimmer that wrapped the hunched form of the old man and receded to show his blotchy skin turning pale and smoother, erasing during the process his beard and shortened his hair that turned black. The lines and wrinkles of his face vanished to reveal a much younger appearance: high cheekbones, pale skin, and striking blue eyes. It was only then that the medallion calmed from its wild jerking at the whole duration.

A sheepish smile met Geralt when the witcher recognized the young man in front of him. "Apologies. Emrys is known to be peculiar and with an attitude," he said, emphasizing on the word peculiar and pointing at the two beds. "And to tell you the truth, it is all my fault. I should have thought things through before I rushed to the cave." He glanced apologetically at Geralt, approaching to offer a hand. "Let's begin with another introduction. I am Merlin, and I am also Emrys. It is an honor meeting you as Merlin, master witcher."

"You're posing as two different people at the same time?" Geralt asked slowly after the situation sank in. "Why?"

"Please, sit down. This can get long." Geralt complied without a word. "I can't afford to stick being Emrys. It would be difficult to hide to the people that I don't age."

"Practitioners of sorcery age slower. Everybody knows it."

Merlin smiled patiently. "You misheard me. I said that I do not age. What you see is what I am for a very long time. The old man is more of a disguise that I learned long ago, initially with the use of an aging potion, until my magic learned to do it on its own. I am an immortal, master witcher, and several generations had already passed me by." He looked like he has more to add but decided against it.

Immortality was another touchy subject among sorcerers and sorceresses, though not limited on their circle alone. Various men had kept on attempting to attain the answer to beat death, mostly kings, and there was one Geralt knew at the present.

"Then the tales you told are all true. You did explore all parts of this world."

"Yes, and more. I am not from this world. Where I came from… I left it when all of my friends and family already died." He smiled wanly, his gaze turning more and more distant. "I can jump between worlds like the elves. There are infinite universes out there, master witcher, with different paces of time that I lost count of my true age. Although, I admit I do get an enjoyment seeing different versions of this world. I'm sure your daughter would tell you the same."

Geralt was instantly filled with hope that was gradually diminishing each passing day of having no clue where Ciri might be next. "You know Ciri?"

"I told you that I see a lot of things. Even her I see, mainly because of the pull of her power that I could sense. Alas, I cannot pinpoint on what world she is in at the present." Merlin looked at Geralt sympathetically. "I apologize if I raised your hope needlessly. But rest assured that she's safe from what's after her as long as she isn't at this world."

"That's enough for me," the witcher said. Putting his mind away from the thought of Ciri, he asked, "How, if you don't mind me asking, how did you come by this kind of power?"

"I wish I could give you a more concrete answer, because it all boils down to my brand of magic, master witcher, and where it came from. And to be clear, I am a human through and through." Merlin was wistful when he added, "Though when you're living for too long, you wonder, too, whether you're still considered human. Because after humans lived their lives, they die."

"You mentioned that you're a druid and not a sorcerer, and while Emrys looked like one, I had a gist of your abilities base from the warding you placed in the cave, and I could say that your level is on par with sorcerers that I know." Stronger, if Geralt was to be honest.

"I'll take that as a compliment, master witcher." Merlin grinned. "I try to differentiate myself from them because these people you're banding me with are those who had years of proper study and sacrificed more than their time to perfect their trade. It wasn't the case with me. I've never had proper training, and instead of an experienced sorcerer for a teacher, I had my uncle, a healer, to teach me what was in that big tome that he had lent me. Not that I'd want to change that. What I'm capable of are from experience, and I was never required to pay for my magic. I've had it easy, because my magic has been a part of me since I was a child that it is as simple as breathing to me."

Geralt found himself admiring the humility that he didn't expect to come from a mage, of all people. Face neutral, he nodded in understanding and pried the topic no further in order to get back on his real purpose. "What are you guarding in the cave?"

"Will you believe me if I tell you that it's a dragon?"

"I believe your story. What's a dragon compared to it?"

Merlin's lips quirked into another grin. "You have a point."

"I'd like to see it, anyhow."

"I don't mind you coming along, and I trust your code against sentient creatures and dragons. But if I see any ill intent, do know that I won't hesitate to drive you out. Forcefully."

"I understand."

"Well, aren't you an easy man to talk to?" Merlin said amusedly, wiping the previous seriousness. "Shall we go now?"

* * *

Merlin reverted back to his disguise of Emrys, and as swift as a snap of fingers, returned to being Merlin once more when they began their path to the cave.

The witcher kept his eyes peeled for any of the townspeople when they left the hut. It appeared that they weren't aware where Geralt's investigation led him, for there were no curious bystanders waiting for their exit.

"These people—did any of them even suspect that there is something odd? Like Emrys and Merlin are never seen together."

"No. And I think they are glad that they don't see much of Emrys. Their strong hate for the non-humans and those who befriend them doesn't surprise me. It's not different from the world I originally lived in, except it was being with magic that were persecuted back then by the king himself."

"Then you know of the king who does that here too."

"Yes, and you and your friend have their hand in saving most of them. You have my gratitude again, master witcher, and please do extend it to Miss Merigold."

Geralt nodded, albeit doubting he would be seeing Triss again.

He was grateful for the distraction from Triss and their parting when Merlin continued, "Uther, the king I told you about, wasn't like Radovid in the other aspects of their kingship. Uther wasn't mad, simply rooted in grief that he wasn't able to let go even after his death. The queen died when her and Uther's son was born, and the king blamed the castle's sorceress for her death, for she was the one who helped the queen conceive a child. Since then, sorcerers and druids were banned from Camelot, among which was my father that Uther tricked in order to capture a dragon."

"You were a son of a rebel?"

Merlin's lips twitched to a smile. "You know, if Uther did find out who am I am, he might have thought the same. No, master witcher, my father turned out to be a peaceful man, as I would find much later. I grew up in the care of my mother, and I was told that my father was long dead. At eighteen, I was sent to Camelot under the care of my uncle when my mother noticed that my magic was growing alongside me."

"Wasn't that riskier?"

"It was, but at the same time, it wasn't, for you see, my uncle was the palace's healer and a friend and sometimes adviser of the king. Think of it as hiding me in plain sight by making me his apprentice. It was also how I got closer to the royal family's circle, serving as a personal servant of the prince himself.

"I was at close age with the prince, and I had dislike him the moment I met him—he was arrogant, self-entitled, and a bully. Being his servant meant being his target. What I never counted on was that he was young, like me, that he would mature and learn his mistakes from his own—and his father's—experiences. He wasn't like Uther at all, because compared to him, Arthur had an open mind and was driven to do what was right. When I saw the kindness in him and the hope that he would unite all kinds of people under his rule, I knew then that he was the king that I would follow to the ends of the Earth. Arthur was my king, master witcher, and he will always be the only one to me. The only regret that I carry is that I let him die in his early reign."

Merlin's lean frame shook briefly. Geralt didn't miss it, but he didn't say anything to break the blanket of silence. Merlin was still human, and just as any, he wasn't easily rid of deep-seated regrets and pain no matter the years. It was a sign of his strength.

"We're here," Merlin whispered, walking ahead of Geralt.

The witcher watched as the walking stick Emrys was using was revealed to be a staff with a large, uncut sapphire in its headpiece and inscriptions that Geralt couldn't decipher. The stone glowed as Merlin pointed it at the huge stonewall that Geralt attempted to conquer.

The illusion dissipated not unlike when the witcher used the Eye. Beyond was a massive cavity of space with an entrance that Geralt could see leading to a set of descending stairways.

Landing on the next room, Geralt was greeted with double the amount of expansiveness than the previous, and among the stalagmites was the gigantic silhouette made of shiny and sharp scales that glistened under the dim light of the lone torch. With the rumble of heavy breathing of the slumbering dragon, it was almost as warm as a furnace.

Merlin gently held him back by his shoulder, wordlessly asking for Geralt to stay put while Merlin went on ahead as to not surprise the dragon with a stranger in its lair.

The witcher picked up soft murmurs of a strange language coming from Merlin who was stroking the face of the dragon like he did to Roach. An eye opened to show its yellow iris and slit pupil that darted to Geralt's position. The witcher held his gaze unwaveringly until Merlin retracted himself from the dragon's side to beckon Geralt closer. His steps prompted the dragon to stretch its legs, standing in its full might.

Larger than an ornitodracon and a slyzard, the dragon was more impressive in its span and scarlet color up close. Geralt was aware of the dragon intelligently watching his every move, not immediately showing hostility at his presence, and nor was it putting down its guard. Geralt was reminded of Villentretenmerth.

"He is called Assyr, master witcher. I heard his call of help two weeks ago. He was injured after he was attacked by men, professional hunters of his kind, he said, who mistakenly thought he was keeping guard a treasure or those wanting the glory of slaying a dragon as huge as him. I've been healing him since I teleported him to flee here," Merlin explained.

"He told you this?" Geralt supposed that Merlin being too modest on the specifics of his abilities. Why not add the ability to talk to dragons as well?

"I know it sounds foolish to you, but yes, I can communicate with them, the family of draconids in general," Merlin said, sheepish, before sharply looking up to Assyr, listening to what sounded like a low rumble to Geralt's ears. "Assyr said that he knows you too," he said carefully. "That you're… feared among his cousins, the wyverns and forktails."

The witcher nodded. "I admit that I've killed a number of them, those who preyed on humans. And, yes, mostly because there were coins in return, but it's either I kill it or letting more people die."

"Assyr told me that he doesn't judge you for doing your job, nor I," Merlin assured him once the dragon rolled out another deeper rumble. "He said that you are mentioned once by Three Jackdaws to be one of those men who stick to their principles." He blinked. "Oh, right, you're the one Villentretenmerth told me about."

It has been a while since Geralt's last encounter with the golden dragon. For somebody who encountered the various kinds of creatures on a day-to-day basis, Geralt would never forget the first time he met Villentretenmerth. The gold dragon appeared to him in a form of a man known as Borch Three Jackdaws accompanied by his two female Zerrikanian guards, Vea and Tea. Villentretenmert, a polymorph, was the only dragon that Geralt heard speak like a human among his kind.

"How is he, Three Jackdaws?"

"He was enjoying mingling with men last I heard of him." Amusement glinted at Merlin's eyes. "Nothing new, I guess."

Geralt agreed. Three Jackdaws wasn't above enjoying gold, alcohol, and the human female flesh. His lifestyle certainly wasn't that different.

Assyr tilted his head above. When Geralt peered up on the dragon, it lowered its head, hovering over the witcher and sniffing the air around him. Geralt was treated to hot puffs of air and a not so pleasant smell of its breath—smell of charred meat that wasn't, thankfully, roasted human flesh; goat or sheep or pig by the looks of it. That answered how Merlin was feeding the dragon.

"He says that you reek of monster blood. You don't smell good."

"So is his breath."

Merlin laughed while the dragon seemingly understood them, giving Geralt a version of its stink eye.

"Assyr will be leaving tonight, master witcher. He says that it's an honor to meet you."

"That really from him or from you?"

"Both." Merlin grinned. "As a sign of good faith, there's something we should give you before you go. You can wait in my hut. Don't worry, you're still a guest of mine."

Geralt shrugged. High noon was already on him. Besides, nothing wrong to accept an extended invitation from his host.

* * *

The witcher went on ahead to Merlin's hut while the latter was left to attend with the dragon whatever it was that they wish to give Geralt.

When he arrived, though, the alderman and a handful of men were there, searching the hut for signs of Emrys, satisfied that they found none.

The alderman beamed when he saw the witcher, starting a tirade of questions like: "You're from the cave, are you not? Did your investigation lead you to Emrys? What happened to the old man, managed to drive him away? How about Merlin? Found out what happened to him?"

"Alright, one question at a time," Geralt said.

"Well, what happened to Emrys?"

"He's fine."

"Where is he then?"

"Gathering herbs."

"What? We thought you drove him away or—"

"I'm not some hired murderer, contrary to the popular belief," the witcher told the alderman in a warning tone. "You were asking me to check the cave, slay if there's a monster that could threaten the people's safety, and find out what happened to Merlin. I assure you that there's no threat to you that is living in there."

Geralt considered the bit about Merlin and Emrys. He wasn't lying about the dragon that currently resided on the cave posing not a threat to any, but nor was he telling the whole truth.

"And Merlin? What about the lad?"

"He's—"

One of the alderman's men gasped, pointing behind Geralt. "Alderman, look!"

Merlin emerged from the woods, disheveled and dirtied with soot and dust as he leaned heavily on a long stick, limping. He gave the alderman a wry grin as he was helped by the others and was interrogated in regards to his whereabouts. He gave them a convincing story of taking a tumble down a sharp tapering deeper in the woods that was fortunately shallow to be a cliff. Merlin told them that he twisted a leg and was unable to call for help until a familiar patient of Emrys, the godling—he made sure to say with clarity—found him. Emrys was aware of his situation but with the childlike body of the godling and Emrys's rickety joints, they were unable to haul him up. Merlin said that he was visited everyday by Emrys to be treated on the spot, with the godling guarding Merlin at night and making sure he was eating.

When Geralt met Merlin's amused eyes, the witcher shook his head.

Clever. Clever, indeed.

* * *

"Been a while since I made one, and while I'm not a master blacksmith, I do know that the most essential thing to produce this is to have it breathed down by dragon fire." Merlin removed the tattered cloth covering the silver blade, showing it to Geralt. "The dragon fire gives it an additional magical edge."

Merlin handed the silver sword. It was light on Geralt's hand with a firm grip. "A fine blade worthy of a king, and you're giving it to a witcher."

"There's no one else more deserving of it," Merlin said confidently.

"Thank you," Geralt said sincerely. "Though I still don't know what I did to be rewarded with this."

"Aside from the alderman's inadequate payment? Hmm. You probably don't think that you and the other witchers' role in this world never amounted to anything when it's quite the contrary." If there was one thing Merlin shared in common with the other mages, it was being vague. "I know it will serve you well."

"I don't doubt it."

His meeting with Merlin, after all, was more than chance. Fate sure worked a strange way by crossing their paths. And it certainly wouldn't be the last, for a year later or so Geralt would be brought to Merlin's steps once more to ask for his aid in the battle at Kaer Morhen.

* * *

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the read! :)


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